Well, it’s Sunday again and that mean several things:
- Many of you are swearing off alcohol “forever”.
- Others are making bargains with various deities in hopes of vanquishing a killer hangover.
- My guests are slowly (very slowly), rising from their slumber and preparing to march through my lobby like the hordes of Mordor. (Yes, I’m a nerd. Shut up. We’re very “in” right now, so get over it.)
- I’m preparing myself to do battle with said traveling horde.
- Suzie81 has launched another Sunday Blog Share on Twitter.
Here’s my contribution, which ironically, took place on a Saturday.
We’ll begin with a Saturday morning elevator greeting from a perfectly lovely young lady of medium stature and build, with beautiful crimson locks styled to perfection. Her eyes were adorned with shadow but in a reserved manner. Indeed, her entire look, from her make-up and designer clothes to her footwear, was understated but upscale. She was the type of girl most parents would be happy to claim as their own.
“It’s a lovely morning isn’t? Not too cold or windy at all. The kind of day that makes you happy to be alive!”
She was like a real-life Disney princess in Park Avenue duds. My response was classic Hook.
“Well, Mother Nature is encasing Niagara Falls under an icy layer of freezing rain but the temperature is mild enough to allow one to stand outside and admire her handiwork, so I suppose I have to agree with you.”
My cynicism worked its usual magic, despite its toxic nature.
“You’re funny. The guests must love you!”
Some of them certainly do.
Our time together was brief (an empty elevator moves quite rapidly in the early hours of Saturday morning), but memorable. Not only was she ridiculously pleasant on a day dominated by bleary-eyed, exhausted zombies, she had a certain way about her that defied description. (Don’t you love it when writers use words like, “indescribable”?) There was something about this girl I couldn’t put my finger on.
ME: It looks like we’re headed to the same floor.
HER: Yes, but I doubt we’re going there for the same reasons. Although, I could put your brass cart to good use!
ME: Oh, did you need some help with your bags in the room?
HER: No, but I your cart would be great to dance on!
Now it was my turn to laugh. She left me gobsmacked for a moment. A picture began to form in my mind, but we arrived at the floor and she took off like a shot, heading directly to a specific room. My instincts, mixed with a writer’s curiosity, prompted me to stay back and observe from a distance.
One quick but powerful knock later, the press board door opened and a towering blonde, shapely goddess, attired in corporate wear and naughty librarian specks, appeared.
HER: Good morning, I’m Heather!
CORPORATE GODDESS: I don’t care!
(You have to love a woman who gets right to the point, don’t you?)
And with that declaration, the Corporate Goddess reached out and grabbed Heather, enveloping her in her arms with all the power of a sexy octopus. (I have a real future in the Fifty Shades of Grey arena, don’t I?) Far from shocked, Heather willingly surrendered herself to her predator’s advances, melting into the embrace. Their mouths coalesced as the Corporate Goddess explored her prey’s delicate backside and exquisite derriere.
Fortunately, within a moment they fell into the room as a single entity, the Beast with two backs fully formed by then. My glasses were fogged up – as was my brain – so I couldn’t have seen anything else anyway.
My instincts are usually sharp enough to spot a prostitute (I’ll refrain from my customary use of the word “hooker” out of respect for Heather), never mind one that is willing to go gay for pay, but Heather was cut from a different cloth, rendering my skills useless. I have to admit to feeling a certain degree of relief at the fact I was surprised for once. I’ve been doing this job for seventeen years and I hope I’ll never be able to say, “Now I’ve seen it all.”
See you in the Twitterverse and the lobby, kids…